/crawls back from hell to hand this in: I’m sorry I can’t offer more. three years is a lot and this feels much too little, though I guess that’s how I’ll always feel about Day6. words really can’t say how much they’ve helped me grow, especially this past year. this is my way of saying thank you - for the music, for the words, but most of all for being you. I tried to find the words to describe what each of the boys makes me feel, what I’ve learned from them, and it might be sappy and probably stretched a bit too thin and most definitely unfinished, but that’s how it is right now, so. the other side of did you know? if you will. or where it started from.
brian is the moon. the hard-working moon, forever trying to make his dark sides just that little bit brighter. he’s the feeling of always always wanting to get better, to be better, shine brighter. and that’s not a bad thing, not at all. that’s just knowing there’s more of yourself hiding in the dark - and wanting to show it. he’s also complexity, he’s duality, and so he’s the moon in all of its phases. he’s ever-changing, and you hear that in his voice, don’t you? the way it rises and falls and swells and warps. he’s a reflection too, because the moon shines not because of the sun’s light but for it. catching the best of people and throwing it back maybe not as brightly but more importantly? just when it’s darkest, just when you need it the most. he’s the reminder of growth, of how it’s possible, of how it hurts, but how it’s still so very worth it. after all, the moon can be barely visible sometimes but it will always become new become full become again and that means in so many words: we’ll keep trying.
wonpil is the stars. far away and hidden sometimes, but still present, still there. shining unashamed. he’s the bonds you don’t see. he’s gravity, not pushing you down but pulling you home. he’s the softest form of caring which perhaps also means the strongest. he’s the stars in the night sky. or rather, the space between them, the strings pulling them all tight even when they’re pushing each other apart. he is starlight, the voice in the air that doesn’t whisper but rather sings in your ear: together or not at all. his voice is starbright, his smile starshine. he has a heart tattooed on his finger because that’s really where his heart lies, not under his sleeve or hidden inside his chest but bare for all the world to see. and that’s bravery at its strongest: showing yourself just how you are, knowing the world will judge, knowing it will find you lacking, and still finding the strength to say back: so what.
sungjin is the earth underfoot, grounded and certain and strong and forever spinning. he’s all the roads you’ve walked on and all the ones you have yet to see. pieces past and pieces future, fitting close together to make a present. he’s the start and the finish line both. circles have no beginnings, just like the earth spinning on its own axis. sungjin’s the earth your hands hit when you fall down but more importantly: also the ground your feet stand on when you rise up again. if wonpil pulls you in then sungjin pushes you forward. he’s confidence, the spinal cord of steel-strength because bravery is never a reaction, but rather the action itself. rather, a voice saying: i’m here. keep walking. if not you then who. leading is often just as much of a burden as it is an honour and sungjin is both sides of the coin. a hand on the shoulder and a push on the back and the sort of reassurance you reach for when it’s dark, knowing you’ll find an answer because the answers is yourself.
jae is the sun. he’s the kind of laughter that turns the whole world yellow at the sound. long summer days and a sweet honey voice, playing double-dutch and strumming at your heartstrings with a smile shaped like a pick. he’s bright, he’s magnetic, he’s a star on his own right - the one that dared to glow brighter than any other. he’s a reminder of how it’s always darkest before dawn and also of how the leap is always worth it. he’s the icarus that rose up, the icarus who had wings made of stubborn hope instead of simple wax, the icarus that flew. dreams were never confined to the night, after all. dreams are made of sunlight breaking through the clouds, determined to be bright. he’s the sun rising, one more day, everyday. a promise shaped like we’ll be okay and if we’re not? well then, that’s okay, too. he’s hard-work, too, because the sun doesn’t ever skip a day, can’t, because it knows that yes, dreams are born out of the impossibilities of the night, but come morning light? dreams are made to be chased.
dowoon is the sky. he’s the stage where it all takes place, the base and the cover both. the sky is no more (but most importantly also no less) than two hands cupped close together, fingers intertwined. there’s no song without a rhythm, and his is the surest heartbeat of them all. the sky is a reflection of all its learned. sun-like yellows and star-whites and moonlit watercolors and the deepest blue of earth. we may look upwards at the sky but did you know? the sky has its own upwards, too. the difference is that the sky holds the things he loves close, holds them tight, holds them dear. and still lets them shine on their right because their colors make him all that better. they teach him how to grow, how to change, how to become. there’s a balance between letting go and keeping close, and the sky walks that tightrope the best.
day6: did you know? forever is not a measure of time, forever is a feeling, and I’ve found that there’s no infinity more real than a single day spent with you.
thank you for three years, here’s to many more.
